


Debriefing

by willowbough



Series: In Loco Parentis [2]
Category: Dominic (TV)
Genre: Alternate POVs, Gen, Guardian-Ward Relationship, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6111129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowbough/pseuds/willowbough
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from Episode 7: Dominic relates his misadventures during the carriage ride to Castle Stainton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Debriefing

“You were right,” he told Lucy the moment he was inside the coach. “You were right, and I was a fool.” He suspected he’d be making that admission any number of times in the days that followed. “I should have gone with you.”

Her eyes widened, huge with sympathy. “Oh, Nick…”

“Why didn’t you?” Captain Beever interrupted, not harshly but with genuine perplexity.

Nick took a breath and risked a glance at him. “They said they’d be taking me to you, sir. I’d so much to tell, and amends to make—”

“Those can wait,” Beever said curtly. “Your report, Mr. Bulman.”

Another breath to steady himself, then, “Where should I start, sir?” he asked, relieved that his voice emerged without a tremor, and even more relieved that his knees were no longer shaking now that he was seated. Reaction over his narrow escape was finally abating, though his pulse still raced and his head swam over how rapidly his fortunes had reversed themselves. From peril to flight to sanctuary…

“I am already aware of your experiences at the Eight Bells Inn. So, start from your arrival at Castle Stainton. Lady Harriet,” Beever indicated the other woman sitting opposite them, “found evidence of your presence there, but no sign of your person. What happened, boy?”

 _Focus._ “Well, first, I asked to see _you_. Miss Sarah—the housekeeper—said you weren’t there at present, but that you soon would be.” Nick paused, disgusted all over again by his own gullibility. “She seemed kind at first.” Hot water, dry clothes, and a sympathetic, almost motherly demeanor: she’d known exactly what approach to take with him. “But she kept—drawing me out. Trying to make me tell her anything I might have seen or heard at the Eight Bells. It made me uncomfortable, so I decided to say as little as possible.” One of the few prudent choices he’d made. Despite their surface differences, Miss Sarah and Barty Finn had proved to be two of a kind.

“Then she sent me into another room, and a few minutes later, a pair of footmen came in and tried to restrain me. I fought back, sir—I even bit one of them,” he added with a glimmer of remembered satisfaction. “But he was wearing gloves so I don’t think I did much damage, and the other one threw a sack over my head. They took me down to a cell under the castle, and left me bound and gagged there.”

Lucy made a sound of distress, while Lady Harriet’s face grew hard. “Several of the servants are in Miss Sarah’s pocket,” she said. “Her creatures, entirely. I am so sorry that you endured this at their hands—and hers.” 

The genuine sympathy in her voice made his eyes sting, and he looked down for a moment, fighting for composure. 

Beever’s voice, sounding very dry and dispassionate, came to his aid. “How long were you there?”

Nick caught onto the question like a lifeline. “Hard to tell, sir. It may have been overnight.” Hours in the dark, with the sound of rats scuttling nearby. Hours when he’d come almost as close to breaking as he had while chained to the rock. Hours during which he’d berated himself for his poor judgment and finally resolved to regard every unfamiliar face as a potential enemy. So much safer that way. 

He exhaled, thankful that the mortifying threat of tears had gone. “I wondered if they might move me and thought I could try to escape then. Except they didn’t untie me—they just struck me on the back of the head. I don’t remember anything until I woke up in the church—”

He bit back a hiss of pain as strong fingers suddenly probed the tender spot at the base of his skull. The fingers gentled at once, but continued to explore.

“You’ve a sizable knot there, boy,” Beever observed. “We’ll have it seen to.”

Nick did his best to sound stoic. “I’ve had worse, sir.”

“We’ll have it seen to,” Beever repeated more strongly, and the steely note in his voice had Nick darting another glance at him. The captain’s expression was as forbidding as he’d ever seen it, his mouth set in a grim line, his dark eyes as hard as flint. Surprisingly, none of that cold rage seemed directed at Nick himself. They’d said a number of hard things to each other at their last meeting—and the boy had lived to regret every single one of them.

Was it possible that he wasn’t the only one with regrets? Studying Beever more closely, Nick thought he saw lines of strain, even fatigue, about his eyes and mouth. These past few days probably hadn’t been any easier on his guardian, he thought with a quick flash of remorse. However difficult things might be between them, Beever had counted Nick’s father among his closest friends, and he’d have striven to fulfill the trust reposed in him for that reason alone. 

And they wanted the same thing: justice for Nick’s parents. How did two people on the same side come to misunderstand each other so badly?

“Nick.” Lucy’s soft voice broke into his musings. “What happened then?”

He looked at her, still amazed by her transformation. As pretty a young lady as any he’d seen in London or York, with her delicate features and coppery ringlets. But she was _Lucy_ —brave and kind, who’d risked her father’s wrath to save his life. He didn’t know why she’d taken such a liking to him, but he could only be grateful that she had.

“I came to and found myself alone in a church,” he resumed, after a moment. “But there was a pitcher beside me, so I broke it, cut my bonds, and made a run for it.” He shivered, a reminiscent chill stealing over him. “I saw two men outside in the churchyard, with spades. They were digging my grave.”

Would they have killed him first, or had they meant to bury him alive? Bashed his head in, or shot him through the heart, like his mother? Or piled the earth on top of him and left him to suffocate? Dying alone in the dark, with no one the wiser…he shivered again, then felt Beever’s hand on his shoulder, steadying him. 

It wasn’t so hard to go on, and there was only a little left to tell. “I found a horse tethered nearby, so I rode away as fast as I could, before they saw me.” Making for the main road, planning to head for the Academy…until he’d heard Lucy’s voice call his name. The wild relief he’d felt then juddered through him again at the memory. “And—and you know the rest,” he finished, a little shakily.

Lucy stretched out her hand to him, and he reached back automatically, their fingers meeting and twining in a brief squeeze. “And you’re safe now, Nick! You’re not alone anymore.”

Not alone. Among allies, _true_ allies, at last. He let himself absorb the realization, drawing strength from it—and from the hand still gripping his shoulder, more gently than expected.

“Indeed.” Beever’s voice sounded deeper than usual. “You can stand down, cadet. We’ve got you under hatches.”

“And you may be sure that Miss Sarah and her lackeys will answer for what they’ve done,” Lady Harriet added, her eyes sparking indignation. “In fact, we’re on our way to Castle Stainton right now—to tell my grandfather _exactly_ what she’s been up to!”

Nick glanced at her more closely—and experienced a shock of recognition. Was he imagining things, or was there more than a slight resemblance between Lady Harriet…and Lucy? Similar coloring, similar features, though Lucy’s were more finely drawn. Lady Harriet was more what his mother would have called “striking” or “handsome,” and she apparently had the strong will to go with those looks.

And just how had Lucy, Lady Harriet, and Captain Beever all come to be in a carriage traveling towards Castle Stainton in the first place? Clearly, there were things he didn’t yet know, and while his curiosity was piqued, he was prepared to be patient. Especially since being _impatient_ had very nearly got him killed.

“I imagine Lord Stainton would be most interested in hearing your story as well,” Beever said now. “Are you up to the encounter, Nick?”

 _Nick._ He couldn’t remember the captain ever calling him by his Christian name before, much less the diminutive. Another shift between them…and perhaps a sign that they might be able to deal better with each other in future?

The least he could do, after everything that had happened, was to meet his guardian halfway. Squaring his shoulders—and ignoring the various aches that flared to life at the motion, Nick summoned a small smile. “I believe I’m up to anything, sir.”

***  
_Amends to make._ Hearing that admission had eased something in Beever. At the very least, the boy no longer appeared to regard him as an enemy. And, the captain acknowledged privately, he too had mistakes to answer for. Certainly he’d never intended his dealings with his ward to become so adversarial, but he could see now how his approach to many things after the Bulmans’ murders might have seemed harsh or high-handed. Or both. Worse, his tactics had resulted in the very thing he’d been trying to prevent: Dominic running away to search for his parents’ killers himself.

No question that the boy’s recklessness and impetuosity had landed him in deep trouble, trouble that had nearly cost him his life. But there was equally no question that he’d got himself out of trouble as well. While Beever had been preparing to waste time and resources mounting an attack on a place where Dominic wasn’t.

He glanced somewhat broodingly at his cadet. Pale, visibly shaken, looking younger and more vulnerable than ever in those oversized clothes. But he’d pulled himself together to give a coherent account—of experiences that might have broken a grown man, let alone a boy of sixteen.

Hearing it, Beever had felt the dawning of a reluctant respect. There was backbone here. There was _steel_ here. The boy who’d shouted at him in a fury of grief and rage just a few days ago had changed, subtly but unmistakably. Warier, more cautious, more reflective: every bump, bruise, and weal—Beever had seen the rope marks on his wrists—bore witness to lessons quickly and painfully learned. And while Beever could appreciate some of those changes, he’d never have wished Dominic to undergo them at such a cost.

But, despite all, the boy’s spirit was intact. _I believe I’m up to anything, sir._

Charles’s son. His cadet—and now his ward.

His to train. To discipline, if necessary. And above all, to protect.

He’d not exactly succeeded in that goal so far. But by God, he meant to do so now.


End file.
